I’ve never considered myself any kind of an active feminist in my own age because I’ve never felt placed into a role or box I didn’t choose for myself. The confusion on his face now though, says everything.
“You mean you don’t want me to go on adventures anymore?”
“Ach, no, of course not,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ll be my wife and you won’t be needing to be in danger ever again. I’ll see to it.”
“Because I’m what? Too weak?”
He’s oblivious to the anger in my voice; that’s clear because he smiles and shakes his head.
“No, not weak, of course not, but that’s what a woman does. She cares for the bairns. These troubles will end soon enough and then you’ll see. I’ll build us a beautiful house close to the clan.”
“What, exactly, is it that a woman ‘does’, Duncan?” I ask, eyes narrowing. “Stay by the fire hoping you’ll not be captured. Again? And if you are, am I to wait idly by while what, no one comes to rescue you?”
“Quinn, I don’t understand,” he says, patting his hands in the air. “This is… this is life. What other way would you have it?”
“Oh, now you’re going to ask? You sure you don’t want to tell me what to think?”
The raven’s cawing is so loud it rings in my ears. I glance around but don’t see it. I can’t believe Duncan isn’t reacting to it also. How can he ignore the bird’s infernal racket?
“Quinn, I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You said yes. I thought…” He trails off.
“What? That saying yes means I also give up my freedom?”
“No, of course not.”
Confusion twists his face, furrows his brow, and he shakes his head. He drops his hands to his sides, lifts them up, then having nothing to do with them, lets them lower again.
“You know what, Duncan? Maybe this is a mistake. I shouldn’t have said yes.”
I cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself tight, trying to contain the irrational anger burning its way through me. I know I don’t mean what I’m saying. My mouth is running faster than my thoughts and those are going so fast I can’t keep up.
Regret, fear, confusion, and anger clash and I’m left in the middle of an emotional storm.
“No, Quinn, you do not mean that,” Duncan says, reaching.
I step beyond his outstretched arm, shaking my head. “No. It’s not that simple.”
“How can it not be? I thought we were happy. Are you not? Quinn, I love you. We can work this out.”
The raven’s screech fills my ears and Dugald is in my head. I chose Duncan, but maybe it was a mistake. Dugald wouldn’t put me in a cage. Wouldn’t expect me to sit at home giving him babies. I want babies, of course I do, but it’s not all I want. I can’t define myself by my uterus, and sane or not that’s what it feels like Duncan expects.
Destroyer. Killer.
The darkness that resides between rational thought whispers. Naming me for what I am. The dying eyes of that young hunter are burned into my memory in vivid detail. The way they faded as life left that poor man. And I did that. I spin away and retch. Duncan rushes forward and puts his arm over my shoulders, but when he does it steals my breath. I can’t get air. I have to get away.
“No,” I yell, slipping out from under him. “No. Not now. I can’t.”
I run a few steps away, then stop as my stomach clenches and I bend over and retch again.
“Quinn, let me help. You’re sick. I’ll get you to Alesoun.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m light-headed and dizzy and the world tilts wildly on its axis. I shake my head, waving him away.
“I’m fine,” I shout. “I need air. That’s all. Let me be to get it.”
“Quinn, it’s not safe and you’re not well—”
“I am fine!”